


Under the Overpass

by TheSanguineRose



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alive Cole Anderson, Alternate Universe - Dragon Riders, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Dragons in love, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Minor Animal Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 11:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20435003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSanguineRose/pseuds/TheSanguineRose
Summary: The fish gasped for water, struggling in Connor’s grip. With a small sigh, Connor stood on his tip toes, reaching for the top of the tank even as the fish continued to thrash in his hand. Just as Connor pushed the lid open enough that he could toss it in, his hand was engulfed in a wet, loose bite. With a yelp, Connor turned, hand still stuck in what he now saw was the mouth of a small sea dragon.Connor screamed.





	Under the Overpass

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my contribution to the Hankcon Reverse Big Bang 2K19! Thanks to my partner Theo, [@BIGHANK](https://twitter.com/BlGHANK) on twitter! His art for this piece can be found [here.](https://api-da.wixmp.com/_api/download/file?downloadToken=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsImV4cCI6MTU2NzA1MzkxNywiaWF0IjoxNTY3MDUzMzA3LCJqdGkiOiI1ZDY3NTYwNWYxNTY5Iiwib2JqIjpudWxsLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6ZmlsZS5kb3dubG9hZCJdLCJwYXlsb2FkIjp7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzQ4MWQ2OTU3LTM2YWUtNDRiMi1iN2ViLTZlOGZhMjNlZjdlN1wvZGRldDJuaS00ZDFmZmFlZC04MWQyLTQyZTAtOWQ2Yy1hNmQ0M2RlNDM4OTUucG5nIn19.DNO4y2oVIQ4qzcPIsoTV53EezD9CNQK1YIBpQQ7EpBk) Further links for the Reverse Big Bang, including the WordPress, are [here.](https://twitter.com/BlGHANK/status/1166931022623100928)

Elongated dots pepper the skyline, writhing and whirling between skyscrapers and diving under divots in bridges. The bigger ones stay highest, keeping an eye on the world below. They circle airplanes and satellite towers, one or two humans fixed firmly on their backs. The smaller ones can be found on walkways above the streets. 

At first glance, one might be afraid of the large beasts that wander here. But one need not be wary, for a dragon is, at its core, a servant and bosom friend to a human. The world, for instance, adapted around them, not the other way around. And in a surprising turn of events, the epicenter of this thriving community of dragons is Detroit, Michigan, and the facility safely nestled on Belle Isle.

Our tale begins with a man, a dragon, and an overpass.

Under the overpass is a restaurant with an expired license and not enough tables. Hank Anderson manages to snag one on his lunch break - a double decker with a small level for humans to dine at and a large one for dragons to lay their heads. Hank's dragon curls almost like a cat, savoring the warmth of the sun. She is, however, always vigilant. When Hank whistles sharply to get her attention, she is gazing into the alleyway across the street, some sort of illicit and likely illegal activity taking place. Her eyes dart to him and he nods at her, gesturing with arms full of their lunch. She purrs at him, the sound undulating up through her scarlet throat and echoing just loud enough to startle the supposed criminals she had been eyeing.

As they scurry away, she lets out a satisfied snort, steam streaming out of her nostrils. Hank chuckles.

"You done?" he asks her, though it is without malice and tinged with playfulness. She tilts her head as if thinking about it, then gives him one nod and settles her head back down. Growling, she flashes her teeth at him, and Hank sets their food in their respective areas.

"All right," he says, and starts to unwrap his solitary burger, thick and clearly customized to his exact tastes. Extra protein, obviously. And extra everything else.

His dragon snorts happily at the five dragon sized burgers in front of her, practically covering the rest of the table. They're practically raw, the heat from her throat and stomach more than enough to cook them on the way down, and she takes them without onions, thanks very much.

She salivates, her tongue lolling out of her mouth like an oversized dog, but she glances once at Hank, as if asking his permission to begin.

"Hell, Brenda, c'mon...I'm not your keeper." Hank sighs as takes a bite. A small trill comes from his waist as Brenda moves toward her smorgasbord, stopping her in her tracks. She sighs and Hank swallows quickly, plucking a glimmering stone from his waist.

Two words echo from the stone, and from others down the street - around the city - "Belle Isle.” Brenda startles, pulling away from the table with a harsh snort.

With just as much disdain, Hank tosses the stone up once and places it firmly back in his pocket. He raises his eyebrows at Brenda, shrugs, and takes another bite. "Eat up, old girl. Looks like we've got a day ahead of us."

A happy glimmer replaces the fear in her eyes and a thin stream of smoke leaves her nostrils. She picks up the burgers all at once with a sweep of her tongue, a satisfied shudder shaking her from head to tail. Hank, on the other hand, savors his bite. Old girl like Brenda - probably better she doesn't fly right after she's eaten.

It doesn't take long for her stomach to settle, and for Hank to slurp down the remainder of his Pineapple Passion and toss the trash into the proper receptacle. Brenda crouches low to the ground, as far as she can with the heave of her belly beneath her. Hank clambers up onto her back, resting his hand on the warm scales of her neck. "There we go," he mutters as the stirrups fasten and twirl around his feet, locking him firmly in place. With two sharp whistles from Hank, Brenda moves away from the tables, stretching her wings in preparation for take off. From there, she propels herself upward, wind sweeping them toward the line of dragons flying to the island that's called to them.

It's sweltering as they ascend, clouds clearing and sending beams of sunlight onto Hank's brow. Between the sun at his head and Brenda below him, he feels properly cooked. The breeze that stirs the long hair round his head helps somewhat, and the steady wingbeats seem to mimic a fan, but it doesn't do much to lessen the discomfort from humid heat. Brenda agrees. She is unable to sweat, but she pants in exertion. Hank takes in the horizon, raising one hand to shield his eyes from the sun, and sees the steady line of dragons that pepper the sky. Some of them change course - supposedly called for another, more pressing job, and some flee from the island. Maybe they’re spooked?

His eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head, patting Brenda's neck once as her scales shudder anxiously. "Easy," he says, calling over the rush of wind. "It's nothing we can't handle, old girl."

She snorts back sarcastically.

Or Hank thinks she does. It is drowned out by a higher pitched roar from below them. Moments later, as he turns his head to look for the source of the noise, a massive lump slams into Brenda from the right and rolls over them off to the left.

As Brenda cries out, trying to steady herself, Hank grips onto her neck, shooting a glare over his shoulder. Before tearing into whoever ran into them, Hank focuses his energy onto Brenda, his palms glowing slightly against her as he calms the rush of her heart and cools the scalding heat of her scales before they burn him.

When she turns her head to the left, Hank looks in turn, scowling, but he stops just short of opening his mouth.

The leveled dragon next to them is young - not a hatchling by any means, but certainly nowhere near the maturity of Brenda. He's just grown into his wings, and they flutter as his rider struggles to keep him in check, a perturbed frown gracing his face. The sun catches the dragon's scales, red and blue and orange feeding into each other and spraying out into glimmering stripes like watercolors - the dragon shines, even as he tosses his head with a growl.

His rider, Hank notes, is also young, though the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth indicate he's perhaps not as young as the dragon. As the rider glances over, still keeping his hands firmly on the neck of his dragon, Hank thinks, much to his own chagrin, "Oh, he's handsome."

He feels more than hears the deep exhale Brenda lets out when the other dragon tosses his head to look at her and… winks? And then the rider shifts, wind pushing neatly combed brown hair out of place. He flies slightly closer, a small, hesitant smile on his face.

He calls out over the wind. "I'm very sorry for running into you."

Hank blinks once.

At the lack of response, the other man's smile wavers for a moment, then fixes back in place. He flies parallel to Hank and Brenda. "We're new in town, and he isn't quite used to flying around here, yet -- ah!" The man yelps as his dragon bucks, petulant, as if insulted by the insinuation that he doesn't know what he's doing.

Hank clears his throat gruffly. "Don't, uh, don't worry about it… just keep a better handle on...uh…" He trails off.

"Blue," says the man, with a smile that only grows wider as he pats his dragon firmly on the back. 

"Right," Hank replies.

There's a moment, then, where Hank and the man make eye contact. Blue eyes meets brown, and the man's smile fades for a moment. Hank feels a warmth stir under his sternum, echoed by Brenda as she hums under him.

"Uh," says the man. "Well, anyway, thank you for being understanding." He turns his attention to Blue, who is still looking at Brenda with his maw stretched into the dragon equivalent of a smile. His teeth are stark white and sharp as knives. The man taps him behind the horn twice, garnering his attention, and nods. 

Hank watches as Blue rolls his eyes before fluttering his wings wide. He surges forward with a roar, leaving Hank and Brenda in the dust.

Hank runs his hand over his chest, then coughs as Brenda hums again. "Yeah," he mutters. "Boy, Ben was right...we gotta stop eating at Chicken Feed. It's giving us heartburn."

Hank gives Brenda a look from his perch and a half hearted shrug, to which she replies with a huff. She rolls her eyes and begins her descent, measuring her speed as she floats down to the island.

Belle Isle has not been used as a tourist attraction for at least twenty years. Once a bustling oasis away from the mainland, it sits as a center for dragon production and assignment, allowing the general public to view the rarer breeds for a price. If Hank were to equate it to anything, he would equate it to a zoo, and not a well managed one. If you were to ask the Handlers, they would say it was an enclosure - a location to preserve a species that was so close to dying out. It’s humanitarian, what they’re doing. 

Naturally, that’s why Brenda’s muscles tense the instant she lands, chest rumbling with an underlying growl as Hank climbs off her. He immediately covers his ears with a muffled swear as a ringing wail pierces the air. Not far off, connected to the aquarium but hanging off the edge of the island, he sees water flying into the air. Brenda gives a concerned growl as they walk over. Hank takes in the number of other riders that are either comforting their dragons, looking over the area, or searching for another mission that is better suited to their skills. Hank notices one constant - none of the dragons look comfortable. Their ears stay flat to their heads, their tails limp between their legs or curled tight as springs. Some look as if they would rather fly off into the night, never to be seen again. 

The wail gets louder, joined by the frantic cries of human Handlers and a fleshy thud against stone. As Hank leans over the metal bannister, Brenda’s massive head peeking around him, he frowns.

Sea dragons, a star attraction on Belle Isle, are endangered. Very few riders actually utilize them, and most are just kept on display here. One stays tucked in the corner, curling its massive body around itself, a mess of red and blue in the gray of the stone around it. The other is stark white, pearlescent with shifting shades of blue in its scales. It is tinged with the glittering red of dragon’s blood, oozing from a small scratch on its side, and it has been wrangled to the ground in ropes. The wail grows weaker, and Hank’s brows furrow. He turns away, mouth a firm line, but Brenda stays.

She tilts her head, the broken wails crashing over her and tugging at her heartstrings. She whimpers back, meeting the eyes of the dragon half in the water. She thinks she hears something from within, a spark of something growing hot in her chest. It makes her want to burn the Handlers holding the sea dragon and help her escape from here.

Her head tilts the other way. The sea dragon mirrors it, a groan escaping her. Brenda puts her front claws up on the bannister and her wings begin to fan out--

“Brenda,” Hank cried. “Come on, girl, what’re you doing?”

She turns to him with a sigh, the heat inside her cooling at the sound of his voice. When he nods for her to join him, she glances once more into the enclosure and turns away, trying to ignore the renewed wails that trail after her.

~*~*~

Connor had visited Belle Isle once before, many years ago, when it was first transformed into a dragon enclosure. He was a precocious boy, analytical, and, deep down inside, he loved dragons. His favorite dragons lived in the sea - swimmers that could leap up into the air in varying shades of blue and white and red, reflecting the sunlight piercing the water. And so it was with easily contained excitement that a young Connor wandered into the aquarium on Belle Isle, filled to the brim with all manner of tropical fish. At its end - the main attraction: Sea Dragons.

Sure, the rest of his class was supposed to be completing a worksheet, but that’s why he finished his during their brief lunch. Then he slid into obscurity, as he was used to.

The hallways were filled with deep blue lights, aquariums lining the walls around him. He took his time, read the placards that told him every detail of the creatures behind the glass. A blowfish puckered its fishy lips at him, and he could have sworn a starfish waved. And so he continued, slowly, but with purpose. He knew what he was here for.

Connor found himself in front of a large tank full of one specific kind of fish, striped and beautiful, orange and white and blue swirling across the tiny school that floated there. The placard read Dwarf Gourami, and below it: Trichogaster Lalius. The cylinder tank stood free from the walls and filled the room with a softer light. As Connor walked around it, enraptured by the shifting colors, a small noise startled him. A small _swish swish_, and a wet _plop_ came from a dark corner of the room, and Connor, a boy whose curiosity had gotten him in more than one scrape in his short life, made his way over to it, head tilted to hear the sound better.

Connor narrowed his eyes and knelt down as he saw what was on the floor. A gasping dwarf gourami flipped and flopped on the ground in front of a door reading Employees Only, and Connor’s eyes widened as he picked up the fish. “How did you end up down here?” he asked it. The fish gasped for water, struggling in Connor’s grip.

When Connor turned back to the tank, he raised an eyebrow. The tank was certainly tall - almost too tall for him to reach up into. That was probably for the best, he reasoned. It wasn’t often that children were allowed to wander by themselves, and clearly, they could injure the fish. As if this one weren’t already sitting on death’s door. With a small sigh, Connor stood on his tip toes, reaching for the top of the tank even as the fish continued to thrash in his hand. Its protests were weaker with each passing gasp.

Just as Connor pushed the lid open enough that he could toss in the fish, the weight left his hand. It was engulfed in a wet, loose bite. With a yelp, Connor turned, hand still stuck in what he now saw was the mouth of a small sea dragon. He was a pale pink color, the stripes on his sides mimicking the very fish he just took into his mouth, and he blinked up at Connor with a high pitched purr. 

Connor screamed, yanking his hand out of the dragon’s maw.

The dragon, startled, screamed back. Water falls from his tiny mouth and splashed against Connor’s shoes.

The fish lay on the dragon’s tongue, soaking up the water in his mouth, and would have screamed were it not a fish.

As he moved away from the dragon, now stretching out and drawing towards him, small wings fluttering against his sides, Connor felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

A firm hand on his shoulder….

Connor shakes his head, the lights of the aquarium drowned out by the blinding fluorescence of flood lights. Bullet holes line the walls, water covers the floor, fish lay gasping until someone has the wherewithal to throw them back into open containers of seawater.

The Employees Only door hangs open on its hinge, caution tape keeping Connor from moving closer. He holds his wrist to his mouth and pushes up his sleeve, revealing a small brace with a glowing stone affixed to it. “Five tanks shot at,” he says into his brace, walking closer to the bulletholes in the wall and running gloved fingers over them. “Two security guards--” A snort from behind him gives him pause. He clears his throat and corrects himself. “Three security guards injured at time of attack.”

Blue pushes his way past Connor, quite literally, nearly knocking him over to sniff at the bulletholes. He follows them down to the pool of blood on the floor, mixed with the remnants of aquarium water. He sticks his tongue out, the tip of it poking at the mixture, and then swallows, giving Connor a look over his shoulder.

With a small vibration, the stone blinks and then projects a hovering image above his wrist with names and dates. With suppressed relief, Connor notes that all the referenced security guards are still alive, as far as the connection was aware. Unfortunately, some of the fish had died, a side note brought from leftover sea water.

As Blue wanders towards the open door, Connor continues to look at the tanks, half empty and surprisingly sterile looking with the lights up as they are. 

“Ah, hell, I don’t think you can fit in here, sweetheart,” says a voice, deep and rumbling from just outside the exhibit. “Stay out here, see if you can find anything… give me a buzz if you do.”

Connor turns, then stops short, his chest filling with warmth. Blue stops in turn, inches from poking his head through the door, and purrs, turning instead to the opening that led to the rest of the aquarium.

He lowers his arm as Blue comes up next to him, an interested shudder pulsing from the dragon and echoing in Connor’s chest. “Stop it,” Connor thinks, glaring to the side.

“Make me,” comes the reply, a rumble in his head. Blue winks at him, practically sauntering through the door, pushing past the man walking in. Connor fixes a practiced smile on his face and calls out, “Hello.”

“Hey,” says the man noncommittally, arms crossed as he looks over the mess of the room. When he meets Connor’s eyes, he also stops. “Hmph, so this is where you were off to in such a hurry, huh?”

Connor’s smile stays in place. “Yes. I’d heard there was an attack on Belle Isle and determined that it was our civic duty to assist.”

“Enough of a civic duty that you broke traffic laws?” The man smiles, just enough to show a flash of teeth - a small gap between the front two on the top.

“When there is an attack on a major center of the city - yes,” Connor says. “Though I do try to avoid breaking traffic laws whenever possible.”

The man chuckles, then looks back over the room, glancing at Connor briefly.

“I’m fucking with you,” he says, pulling the stone from his pocket and running its light over the same bulletholes Connor had analyzed.

“Oh.”

There is a moment of silence as they both go about their analysis.

“So I’m Hank,” says… well… Hank, Connor supposes.

“Connor.”

“Nice to meet you.”

It’s quiet once more. Hank moves over to the door and pushes through.

Connor fixes to join him before a sharp dragon-like laugh echoes in his head. With a roll of his eyes, Connor holds a hand to his head.

“I said stop it,” he thinks, loudly.

“I said make me, and you did not,” Blue growls, almost in a singsong.

“So what are you doing this for?” Hank calls from the doorway. Connor clears his throat.

“I’m a private investigator, specifically one trained in dragon-related crimes and issues,” Connor calls back, ignoring the lilting laugh in his head.

“Well, damn, you sure got a good case, then.”

“Yes, I suppose I did… An attack on the sea dragon enclosure is an anomaly. Even most activist groups wouldn’t touch them.”

“Activist groups, eh?”

“Well...terrorist groups, really.” Connor scowls. “They frighten the dragons more than help them, and most dragons are happy with their Handlers.”

Hank nods slowly, making his way down the hallway, holding up his stone to light the way.

Connor can’t help but feel an odd tension in the air as he follows Hank - why was he even following? Connor had work to do, and it had nothing to do with Hank. Why was Hank here, doing _his_ job?

“I, uh, I’m in law enforcement,” says Hank, as if reading his mind. “I’m not trained in this stuff, but we’re usually the first to get the notice if something’s gone screwy.”

“So you must also know what you’re doing,” Connor says with a smile. “At least as far as the investigation goes.”

“You could say that, yeah,” Hank says.

They reach a door at the end of the hallway. The lock’s been broken off.

“Would you say that this is a clue?” Connor asks.

Hank raises an eyebrow at him over his shoulder. “Do you usually sass people you’ve just met?”

“I’ve heard that I have a penchant for it, yes.”

“...Just stay behind me.”

The door opens into a stark white room, save for the brightly colored eggs that sit in an incubator. They lay on their sides, a few of the indents empty - an indicator of what the attacker’s motivation was, Connor supposes. He looks at the desks that litter the room. Papers line the floor, photos and documents, torn and intact. A vial of dragon blood lays shattered in the center of the room, steaming as if freshly ignited.

“What the hell?” Hank looks at the blood and scans it with his stone. Then he moves to the incubator.

“Three eggs,” Connor says, picking up papers as he goes. “Sea Dragons… a new clutch…”

“Guess that’s why that dragon out front was losing its mind, huh?”

“That would make sense,” Connor muses. Then he frowns. “Why didn’t anyone come back here?”

“They clearly aren’t as clever as you,” says a voice from behind them. The voice is soft, yet domineering. “I also asked them to respect the privacy of Kamski Industries, but I digress.” 

The man lingering in the doorway is smiling, his hair pulled back into a bun with the sides shaved. Three waist high blue dragons circle around him, staring at Hank and Connor in unison.

“Elijah Kamski,” says the man, walking closer and extending his hand in greeting. Hank stares at it for a moment before he takes it firmly, frowning. The air feels oily - sick - wrong. Connor continues to look around the room, even as Kamski and his dragons keep their eyes on him.

Kamski slowly moves over to where Connor is, his gaze fixed on the incubator. As his hand falls and strokes one of his dragons on her head, he continues, “Unfortunate that the eggs were stolen. The only way someone could have gotten back here is if they already knew where to go.” When Connor opens his mouth to protest, Kamski interrupts him. “Sea Dragons are already endangered… what kind of monster would want to kidnap three of the five remaining eggs in existence?”

“If you don’t want anyone back here,” Connor says, “then how are you going to find this ‘monster?’” As he nears one of the fluid covered clipboards, one of the small dragons hisses at him, nipping his heel.

“Chloe,” Kamski calls. “Down. I’m sure Mr. Stern is more than happy to ignore things that don’t involve him. Aren’t you, Connor?”

“How do you know my--?” 

Kamski lifts his palm, and the three dragons cry out, drawing security into the room.

“With all due respect, Mr. Stern, Lieutenant Anderson,” Kamski says, directing the guards with a wave of his hand. “We can handle this internally. The real issue is what you saw out there - a grown Sea Dragon injured.”

“But--” Connor is interrupted again by a yelp of anger from one of the Chloes, her teeth flashing at him. He feels a hand on his forearm. When he looks down, he sees that Hank is touching him, though he keeps his gaze firmly on Kamski.

“I got it,” Hank says. “Sorry to bother you. We’ll be on our way.”

Connor tries to speak again, but Hank stops him with a tug at his sleeve, nodding towards the door.

They’re quiet as they leave the aquarium. It isn’t until they are fully outside, the sun just starting to set, that Connor sighs. “I didn’t get to look at everything,” he snaps.

“Well, we got enough,” Hank replies. “Look, sometimes you have to know when to quit… and usually that’s when you have enough to pull together the scene.”

“But we didn’t.”

“Maybe _you_ didn’t,” Hank says, looking around fervently. When he doesn’t appear to find what he’s looking for, he pulls the stone from his pocket and whistles sharply at it.

Connor eyes the stone. He’s familiar enough with their use as a multipurpose tool, but he’s not had to use one to call Blue. He can’t recall the last time he saw someone who did. Connor feels more than hears Blue arriving. He feels the rush in his chest, the wind against his skin. Moments later, ,Blue and Brenda descend from the clouds, swooping around each other playfully. Blue tries to show off with overzealous flips and spirals. Brenda lets a stream of stark orange fire loose in the air, and Blue follows, his fire coming out a bright blue..

When Brenda roars at him, Blue lets out a small chuckle and dives straight into the water. Connor gasps at the phantom cold, startling Hank, and clears his throat.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Connor thinks, for the third time that day.

“And make me miss my own finale? What kind of wingman are you?” comes the crow in his mind.

Blue rushes up from the water, his wings spread and flicking water onto passersby. His fire comes out a brighter blue, tinged with the salt and punctuated with the hiss of steam. Brenda hums, giving Blue an approving look before nodding down to Hank, a subtle acknowledgment of his call.

As the dragons return to the earth, still keeping their eyes on one another, Hank smiles. “I think your dragon might like my dragon.”

“So it would seem, yes,” Connor says sharply. When Blue lands before him, he climbs on him immediately. “Lieutenant...I’m not giving up on this. Something seems wrong. Should you wish to discuss this further, you know how to contact me.”

And with a confused look from Blue, Connor nods at him to leave, feeling his face burn red with frustration.

~*~*~

Hank watches Blue and Connor ascend into the sunset, wondering what the fuck is wrong with that kid.

This thought stays with Hank long after he and Brenda return home, the sun gone from the sky. Brenda bustles into the backyard, poking her head in through the back window. Hank keeps it open for her so she can be part of the family - she hasn’t fit in the house itself in decades. He cooks dinner, still lost in thought, as Cole has a one sided conversation with Brenda. He’s always asking her questions about her day, what it’s like to breathe fire, how does she fly?

Today, though, all he wants to hear about is what happened on the island.

“What dragons did you see?” Cole asks, his blue eyes bright with excitement as Brenda leans her head on the counter. She purrs softly. Cole hums thoughtfully. “Interesting...I’ve never met those before.”

“What did she say?” Hank asks from across the kitchen. He’s making an unfortunately healthy dish so as to set a good example for Cole. At least he can flavor the hell out of chicken.

“She says she saw sea dragons,” Cole replies. He pushes his hair out of his eyes and bounds over to his father, peeking at the colorful array of vegetables before pretending to gag.

“That she did,” Hank says. He looks down at his son. “You gonna help me or not?”

“Not!” And with all the tact of a ten year old, Cole goes back to Brenda.

Over dinner, Cole pipes up. “We go’ a ner nebbor today, by the way.”

“Chew and swallow, bud,” says Hank.

Cole downs his entire glass of milk before he says again, more clearly, “We got a new neighbor today.”

“Oh? Down on the corner?”

“Yup! He’s got a dragon, too.” Cole barely contains his excitement as he takes another bite. “You think he’d let me talk to him?”

“You can’t just talk to someone’s dragon, Cole.”

“Why not? I talk to Brenda all the time.”

Brenda nods from the window as she nibbles on chicken. She tosses a small piece down to Sumo, who swallows it gratefully.

“Yeah, but Brenda’s family. You don’t know how other dragons might react to you, and you’ve gotta be careful,” Hank says. At Cole’s dejected look, he sighs. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to say hi - to the _guy_, not the _dragon_.”

They eat their dinner in relative peace after that, Cole’s curiosity satiated by his own imaginings of what Brenda said about their day, and by looking forward to meeting their new neighbor after supper.

~*~*~

Connor throws a dinner for one in the microwave and forgets about it, choosing instead to spread out papers stolen from the aquarium on his dining room table. The only light on in the house is the one hanging over the table, and Connor would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel slightly badass. Blue lays on the threshold of his sliding glass door, half in and half out, bored to tears.

Connor’s stone lays in the center of the organized chaos of his kitchen table as he tries to connect the dots. There has to be something more, he thinks to himself. This was no simple heist - if Kamski doesn’t want this getting out, there must be a reason. 

He picks up the stone. “Why are the sea dragons important?”

“I’m bored,” says the grumble in his head.

“Then find something to do,” Connor says aloud, not taking his eyes from the papers. He picks up an anatomical diagram, then glances at Blue. “Did you know any of them?” he asks.

Blue snorts and shakes his head. “They’re eggs - of course I don’t.”

Connor frowns. “What about the ones outside?”

Blue lowers his head again and yawns loudly. “No… The ones I knew are long gone.” 

Connor sighs, placing the diagram down. He reaches for a paper covered in some kind of fluid he doesn’t recognize and runs his fingers down the paper. The fluid breaks up and shows nonsensical numbers and handwriting beneath. He holds his fingers up to the light. It shifts in shades of red and purple - blood, perhaps?

He opens his mouth to ask Blue to analyze it when the doorbell rings, making Blue shoot straight up. He shakes the doors in his haste.

“Calm down, it’s probably nothing,” Connor thinks. Blue growls.

Connor wipes his fingers against an open vial to catch the fluid, then washes his hands swiftly. He adjusts his shirt, his cuffs, straightens his jacket and brushes his hair back with his hand. With a final glance in the mirror by the door, he determines he looks presentable enough.

When he opens the door, it is the last person he would have expected at nearly nine at night on a Tuesday.

“Lieutenant Anderson?” Connor asks, eyebrows meeting his hairline.

Hank blinks back.The child standing next to him looks up at Hank with a confused look, a plate of food in his hands. “Of course you’re the new neighbor,” Hank mutters, more to himself, dragging a palm down his face. “Hi, Connor, long time no see.”

“Indeed, an entire three hours,” Connor replies.

Blue purrs excitedly from somewhere behind him. As he rushes around to the back and over the gate, there’s a sound of crashing glass.

Connor turns, looking at the remains of his sliding glass door. “Oh you’ve got to be--”

“We brought you brownies,” interrupts the boy, holding up the plate. His voice wavers, like he was building up the courage to say even that. “They’re dragon safe, too, so your cool dragon can eat them! I’m Cole.”

“...Oh. Thank you,” Connor says, awkwardly taking the plate out of Cole’s hands. “I appreciate that very much.” He tries not to think of the door. It’s very difficult. Especially since the evidence of his dragon causing a ruckus is right in front of him, as Blue cozies up to Hank’s dragon on his front lawn. “Though, I don’t think he will be getting any after this spectacle,” he adds. Hank chuckles, the sound rolling over Connor and making his cheeks warm. “I told you he liked her,” Hank shrugs. “Must be nice for her - been a while since she had a friend like that.”

There’s a moment where Connor and Hank stare at each other. Cole grins up at Connor. Connor feels himself sweat, and Hank clears his throat.

“So, yeah, welcome to the neighborhood and… and whatever,” he says, crossing his arms and giving him a closed mouth smile.

“Yes, thank you, it is lovely here,” Connor replies. He taps the side of the plate in an intermittent pattern, a nervous tic he never quite got rid of.

Cole looks over at the dragons, who duck their heads as they hum and growl at one another. Blue looks over, grins a dragony grin, and nods. Brenda nuzzles her nose against his side, then starts on her way back to Hank’s house, growling loudly enough to gather the attention of her Rider.

“It’s been a long day,” Hank says, and motions for Cole to join up with Brenda.

“Welcome to the neighborhood!” Cole cries out. “Your dragon is awesome, I’d love to talk to him sometime! See what kinda stories he has for me!” Cole runs over to the larger dragon and rubs her neck.

Hank clears his throat. “Cole likes to interview dragons.” His fingers form quotation marks when he says “interview”.

“Well, Blue would be a good candidate. He doesn’t seem to know when to be quiet,” Connor replies. He holds up the plate slightly. “Thank you, again, for this. And, uh, Lieutenant… should you get the chance, I would like to compare notes.”

Hank gives him a salute.

Connor closes the door with a smile, and then it’s quiet once more.

~*~*~

Hank hasn’t gotten his mail in over a week. The courier dragons are usually very good about leaving little markers that at least they showed up, but Hank doesn’t really pay attention. Usually, he just picks it all up at the end of the week, anyway. It’s Saturday morning - Cole sits in front of the television watching cartoons. Sumo snoozes next to him, and Brenda snoozes at the window closest to the two of them. 

So Hank decides to get the mail, dressed in naught but his boxers, a robe, and his bunny slippers. Imagine his surprise when he opens the mailbox and finds… absolutely nothing.

“The hell?” he mutters as he goes back inside. Closing the door behind him, he calls out over the sounds of plucky melodies and slapstick antics, “Cole, did you pick up the mail this week?”

“What?” Cole asks through a mouthful of cereal.

“The _mail!_”

“No!”

“Then what the…”

Hank trails off as he sees Brenda lift her head to the window and wink at him. She then nods over to their neighbor’s house - Connor’s house.

Outside, Connor opens his own mailbox and looks at the abundance of papers with surprise, then confusion. He looks over to Hank’s house. And sees him looking. He waves, a small awkward thing, accompanied by a pleasant smile.

Hank waves back, then calls out the window. “Usually the mail doesn’t get mixed up like that! Wonder what happened!”

Connor shrugs and walks over, stepping carefully so as not to get mud on his dress shoes. He stops at the window, nodding in greeting down at Brenda.

“Perhaps the courier isn’t quite used to someone living there,” Connor muses. He separates Hank’s mail from his own and passes it through the window. Their fingers brush, just barely, but enough for Hank to startle. His head hits the windowpane with a resounding thunk.

Cole, Sumo, and Connor groan in unison. Brenda shakes her head and covers her muzzle with her claws, trying to stifle the embarrassment.

“You all right, Lieutenant?” Connor asks.

“I’m fine, just...” Hank stops, sighs, and rubs the top of his head. He looks at Connor from under a sea of hair, then pushes it back enough to look him in the eye. “You can call me Hank, y’know? You don’t have to keep up with this Lieutenant business. I’m retiring soon, anyway.”

“Oh,” Connor says after a moment, blinking rapidly. “I’ll take that into consideration, then.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

Connor fiddles with his hands, taps his fingers, then puts them in his pockets - as if he isn’t sure what to do with them. Hank stays at the window, mail safely in hand, dull ache finally receding from the top of his head.

“Well,” Hank starts.

At the same time, Connor says, “Hank--”

They both stop. Hank motions for Connor to continue, scratching at his beard. “Go ahead.”

“Would you mind if we went over those notes, now?” Connor asks. “I mean, you don’t have to, but it would help, and the sooner we can solve this investigation, the better, I think-”

“All right, all right,” Hank says, but he hides a grin. “Just for a little bit - I told Cole we’d take Sumo and Brenda to the park today.”

“Oh, Blue and I haven’t had a chance to see the park yet.”

Hank leans back out the window. “You wanna come along?”

“Could we?”

Hank shrugs. “Sure, why not? More the merrier, whatever.”

As Connor disappears into Hank’s home, he and Hank miss Blue’s head as it pokes over the fence. They also miss the subtle wink he gives Brenda, holding a stray letter in the clutch of his tail.

~*~*~

Over the next few weeks, Connor realizes something - Hank is a good man.

It isn’t just how he’s helped Connor with the investigation, but how he acts with his son, with people in general, how he never seems annoyed when Blue somehow finds out where Brenda is and feels the need to fly with her.

If anything, Hank seems almost… excited to see him.

Hank sits at his table, glasses on the tip of his nose as he looks over the most recent photographs Connor got ahold of. Connor wonders idly if Hank might be interested in private investigatory work in the future. He said he was retiring soon, and they do work well together.

He voices this question, resenting the hesitant hitch in his voice.

Hank chuckles. “Actually, get this… I want to get into dragon breeding.”

“Really?”

Connor tries not to sound surprised. From the amused look on Hank’s face, he fails.

“Yep. I don’t know a whole lot about them, but I care about them. And the reason so many are mean is because they aren’t treated right.” Hank takes a pen out and goes over the photograph again with his finger. “Plus, Cole loves dragons.”

“I can tell, he won’t leave Blue alone for a minute.”

“Tell me about it.” Blue’s voice echoes in his head, but he sounds more tired than angry. And truly, Connor knows that Blue loves the attention.

“I enjoy Cole,” Connor says, hesitant. “He gets along well with Blue and… I’m not particularly used to children. But I like him.”

“Ah, good, I guess I’ll keep him,” Hank says.

Connor smiles.

When they take a break, Connor suggests a hip boutique he saw downtown.

Hank suggests Chicken Feed.

It’s a small place, one that Hank is both familiar and comfortable with, so Connor agrees. When they land some time later, Brenda and Blue take their places at the dragon sized tables, eyeing Hank and Connor in a way they think is discreet.

As Connor stands next to Hank, he realizes why this so comfortable. Under the overpass, hidden from the rest of the world, he feels at peace - safe. He can’t remember the last time he felt safe, not since his link with Blue keeps him on edge.

Hank orders what Connor assumes is his usual, and Connor orders the same. There’s an expired license posted inside the food stall, but he ignores it, instead opting to savor the feeling of openness, of safety.

Of love.

With a mouth full of food, Connor sharply turns to look at Blue, who gives him a knowing wink and nudges a large burger to Brenda. She scoops it up with her long tongue.

“Connor, you still with me?” Hank asks, waving a hand in front of his face. 

Connor swallows. “Yes! I’m sorry. I got. Distracted.”

They eat in a companionable silence, but Connor finds his hands won’t stop shaking. He takes his time, building up his confidence until he decides to risk it all.“Hank,” he says, “I have appreciated our time together and I… I’ve come to care for you a great deal.”

Hank chokes. He takes a giant gulp of his soda, his face going purple.

“I’m sorry if that startled you,” Connor adds. “I just thought that you should know if we are going to continue working together.” Connor shrugs, as if this conversation isn’t making his heart race fast as a jackrabbit. “I understand if you would prefer I keep this to myself going forward, but I thought you had the right to know.”

“Connor - just gimme a second,” Hank coughs, still trying to catch his breath.

Connor clenches his hands together to keep them from shaking, tilting his head as if Hank is a curiosity.

“Ahem...Thank you?” Hank starts, then stops. He tries again. “I care about you, too. You’re weird as hell, but I mean.” He looks over at Blue and Brenda. Connor follows his gaze. “There’s a reason they’re so into each other.” Hank shrugs. “I guess it just makes sense that we’re also… into each other?”

Relieved, Connor moves in, clasping Hank’s hand in his. He raises it to his lips. “Yes,” he says. “Into each other.”

Hank clears his throat again. “Well, good… good, yeah, I’m glad we got that… settled.”

Connor grins as he lowers their clasped hands. He could look at the sun as it falls under the horizon, or anything else, but instead he looks at Hank. Ignoring the joyful howls in his mind from Blue, he looks at Hank, and he doesn’t want to look away.


End file.
